


air

by Anonymous



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, Breathplay, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Necrophilia (implied), Snuff (Implied), Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26928691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In which August is a very nice person, and the summary is in no way ironic.
Relationships: August/Mikage Hisoka
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15
Collections: Anonymous





	air

**Author's Note:**

> yes, a man who cheerfully recruits a person on the verge of freezing to death into violent black ops is a morally upstanding citizen
> 
> no actual character death though so you can rest easy it's fine

August's fingers settle around the column of December's throat, and side by side, his thumbs press down on his windpipe with a gentle, and yet quite persistent, force. December's back arches up off of the dirty bedding, his hands instinctively seeking August's forearms. December tries to take a breath, and it catches on the pressure on his throat. He tenses, instinct threatening to take over, but he wills himself to--

"Relax, December," August says. His voice is as warm and soothing as it ever is, and he punctuates with a pointed thrust of his hips. His dick strikes inside of December and the motion forces a gasp out of him; but as soon as the puff of air leaves December's throat, August presses down just a little bit harder to make sure he can't steal it back. December tries his damndest to focus on August-- August, who's smiling so warmly, fucking him so carefully (far more carefully than he needs to, at that), while all the while, he presses down on December's windpipe and coos about killing him and fucking his corpse.

It's hard to tell which of those goes to December's dick the most.

"It'll be fine," August reassures him. If he had a free hand, he'd likely be petting December's hair away from his face; it's the same tone of voice he uses when he does that, but the words are different now. "I could do it now, you know. Wouldn't it be nice?"

(December thinks distantly that he should put up more of a fight-- but it's August, so he doesn't need to, right? So be it that there's a tinge of something unfamiliar in August's voice, a breathy thrill, and his fingers tense around December's neck a little more at a time until they press into him hard enough -- certainly -- to leave bruises behind.)

And all the while, he talks.

August's words quickly blur into each other in December's swimming mind, a litany of _you could just stay asleep at my side forever, doesn't that sound nice, December? god, you'd make a perfect little doll, December, safe and warm and pretty and quiet_ ; and December's lungs burn red, his back arches up and his legs shake and he can't even focus on the dick in him. His vision goes spotty and then fades out at the edges, and as his head sinks into darkness it gets floatier, he grips and scratches and scrabbles at August's forearms with not nearly enough conviction, and he manages to murmur, raspy and hoarse with what feels like the last bit of air in him that he doesn't want to die; but August just coos and presses down harder and tells him to _relax, it's fine, you'll be fine, you say that but didn't you just get so hard at the idea? It's okay, I know, December, don't be afraid, it'll be over soon, just relax, let me take care of you December, April won't want to fuck you but it's fine, I'll make sure you never get cold, I'll keep my dick in you all the time,_ and as he talks he sounds more sincere by the word, more serious, so serious that it sends a pang of dull fear through December but he can't figure out how to move, and August's voice gets shaky with excitement and he fucks harder and he squeezes even more air out of December's body, air that he doesn't have _left,_ and August bucks his hips and comes inside him for the second time, his dick twitching so _hard_ that December can feel it even through the haze, it's the only thing he can feel, the feeling of August's orgasm is the only sensation for his cloudy brain to latch onto, and--

And then, all at once, the pressure lets up. December breathes desperately, the air almost tasting like blood on his tongue. His chest heaves in a racked, involuntary sob, and August laughs so warmly. He strokes a thumb down December's face, wiping away tears that December hadn't realized had been streaking down his face-- tears that he immediately feels quite annoyed by.

"April'd be pissed if I did, though," August says, fondly, with a smile that he can't see because his vision is still swimming but that he can hear. "At least without giving him a chance to go one last time, you know?" While December is still trying to parse out the words, before reality has the chance to flutter back into focus around him, August's hand is at his dick -- straining hard, leaking precum, neglected so cruelly on account of August's hands being otherwise occupied, but he is quick to make up for his transgression, as he always is. It only takes a couple strokes to knock December's vision right back out of focus, and he coughs raggedly, trying to breathe all over again while August murmurs sugar-sweet praise in his ear.


End file.
